According to the old system of Great Xuan, the Zhuangyuan (First Place), Bangyan (Second Place), and Tanhua (Third Place) were bestowed gold-leaf velvet flowers; the other scholars were bestowed silver-leaf velvet flowers. The Crown Prince was to personally pin the flower upon one side of their gauze hats as a sign of imperial favor. Even the manner of holding the flower and the angle of pinning it were strictly prescribed.
Zhao Yen picked up the Zhuangyuan’s gold-leaf velvet blossom.
The flower was crafted with utmost delicacy and refinement. Upon close sniffing, even the fragrance had been made exceedingly lifelike.
She thought nothing of it, and according to the rite, pinned the flower upon the hat of the Zhuangyuan, who was old enough to be her father.
The Zhuangyuan was moved to tears, kowtowed nine times in three rounds, and withdrew.
At long last, after all the flowers had been bestowed, though it was not yet the time for the feast to open, the Ministry of Rites presented elegant music and dance to entertain the new laureates. Zhao Yen’s chest felt stifled, so she went beneath the corridor to seek a shaded spot for some fresh air.
At the side, the noble ladies—who had long been restraining themselves—pushed one another, glanced back and forth, and in groups of threes and fives approached together.
Several of the bolder ones spoke directly, openly.
“Crown Prince, please bestow a flower upon us as well.”
“Yes, yes! Even if Your Highness only granted a blade of grass, it would be the greatest honor for your subjects’ daughters.”
Wenren Lin descended from the winding gallery bridge over the meandering stream and was met with this lively scene.
The young Crown Prince was surrounded by a cluster of twittering maidens, presenting to them flowers freshly picked in all colors. With such an engrossed appearance, she was clearly enjoying herself.
Wenren Lin turned his steps toward them.
The lively laughter abruptly ceased, even the sultry warm breeze seemed to still.
Zhao Yen lifted her gaze, her slightly curved eyes pausing the moment she saw Wenren Lin approaching at a measured pace.
With the Guo Minister’s legitimate daughter as a cautionary example, all the noble ladies, upon seeing the handsome “God of Slaughter” advancing gracefully, swiftly scattered away from him as if fleeing the center of a storm.
Only a younger maiden remained standing in place, staring dumbfounded, forgetting to react. Her elder sister bit her lip, stepped forward, and yanked her back with force.
Wenren Lin was quite satisfied with their tact.
He fixed his gaze on Zhao Yen, looked for a long while, and said without much warmth: “Your Highness is indeed generous in bestowing flowers.”
Zhao Yen did not believe he had come here merely for idle conversation.
It was nothing more than delight in destroying her amusement and savoring the tremors of those around.
The jade blossoms collected by the palace attendants were nearly all bestowed, leaving only a single early-blooming pomegranate flower lying lonely upon the stone table.
“To bestow flowers in Father Emperor’s stead as a favor upon his subjects—this is the duty of the Heir.”
A thought stirred in Zhao Yen’s heart; she promptly picked up that pomegranate flower and handed it out, lifting her face with obedient grace: “This one was prepared for the Grand Preceptor.”
Her words seized the thread cleverly. Wenren Lin’s gaze slid from her lips downward, landing upon that equally vivid pomegranate blossom.
Amidst the dappled shadows of flowers, one stood tall with hands clasped behind, the other sat straight and upright; one in a robe of dark crimson like blood, one in bright scarlet attire.
Bestowing flowers was the Emperor’s favor to loyal officials and good generals. The giver was the sovereign, the receiver the subject.
But alas, he was neither loyal minister nor good general. The distinctions of ruler and subject could not restrain him in the least.
“Your Highness is thoughtful.”
Wenren Lin accepted the pomegranate blossom, his fingertip idly rubbing it.
As the flower branch twirled once between his fingers, Wenren Lin caught the faintest whiff of a fragrance beyond that of the pomegranate blossom itself.
Something discordant—his eyes narrowed slightly.
“Prince.” Zhang Cang cupped his fist to Wenren Lin, seeming to have something to report.
Wenren Lin placed the blossom behind his back, inclined his head slightly to Zhao Yen, and departed.
The fiery red pomegranate flower turned lightly in his hand, and those frost-pale, long fingers were stained with the flower’s vivid hue.
Floating clouds dispersed, warm sunlight once more cascaded down. Zhao Yen’s vision wavered.
She hastily propped her head, exhaling a breath of heat.
“Your Highness, what is it?” Liuying immediately supported her.
“A little dizzy,” Zhao Yen said.
Liuying raised her head at the sultry, scorching sun, and said softly: “Perhaps stifled from the heat. Allow this servant to help you to the Shicui Hall to rest a while.”
The Shicui Hall was not far. Zhao Yen lay upon the small couch, yet the dizziness and pounding in her head did not lessen.
She thought it must be from her chest binding being too tight, making it hard to breathe and thus causing the faintness, so she said: “Go and give word to the Ministry of Rites. For the opening toast of the banquet, I most likely cannot make it. Let them handle it themselves.”
Seeing that her complexion was truly unwell, and considering that the toasting was not an indispensable part of the proceedings, Liuying nodded: “Your Highness, please wait here a moment. This servant will go make the arrangements.”
Since the incident in the Minghua reign years, when a prince once entered the palace with guards intending to assassinate the Emperor at a banquet, the court had decreed: apart from military generals removing armor and laying down swords when entering the palace for duty—and permitted to bring one deputy general—no one else, be they princes or heirs, was allowed to bring guards or retainers within the palace.
Thus even Gu Xing could only wait outside the gates of Penglai Court.
With manpower lacking, Liuying could only go to find an inner attendant to deliver the message.
Yet all around was empty. Waiting longer, Her Highness might not endure. She frowned slightly, then took the flower-shaded path toward the nearby banquet.
As soon as Liuying closed the door, Zhao Yen could no longer support her body, slowly sinking down. Her eyelids felt weighted with lead, her consciousness as though sinking into a muddy swamp.
The door was suddenly pushed open. A palace maid staggered in, supporting a woman in the guise of a consort. That woman’s hairpins and ornaments were all disheveled, her breathing rushed, her mind already unclear.
“Beauty Liu, please rest well here.”
Zhao Yen heard the palace maid speak in a timid voice.
Her breath caught. Even in her dizzy confusion, she realized what was happening.
Though she did not know at which step the slip had occurred, she had indeed… fallen into a trap.
And the vilest, most degrading trap.
There was no time to call out. The sweet fragrance exuding from Beauty Liu’s body surged into Zhao Yen’s nose, colliding with the current already in her own system. Like fire meeting oil, it ignited a torrent of unfamiliar, unbearable heat.
Panic, and helplessness—Zhao Yen dug her nails deep into her palms.
In the little pavilion atop the rockery, Zhao Yuanyu took in everything with his eyes.
Not until he personally saw the bribed palace maid deliver Beauty Liu into the hall did he give a cold snort, confirming: “Zhao Yan has been extremely cautious lately. Anything entering his mouth he does not touch, even the incense must come from the Eastern Palace’s own stores. Are you certain the drug was applied?”
“This Pair-Mandarin Duck Incense was blended personally by the Immortal Master, in male and female forms. The female portion was put into Beauty Liu’s wine, and as for the male… Qiu Niang disguised herself as a palace maid and smeared it upon the golden velvet blossom. So long as the Crown Prince, while bestowing flowers, so much as brushed against a trace, he would surely be ensnared.”
The young eunuch revealed a lewd smile. “If one scent is inhaled alone, it is harmless, at most giving some dizziness like drunkenness. But when male and female incense meet, yin and yang attract—then the reaction… Your Lordship has witnessed it yourself.”
Recalling the results of several tests conducted in his residence, Zhao Yuanyu drew out a grim smile.
If not for the necessity of concealing his identity, he would have personally gone to watch that little Crown Prince cast aside rites and morals, coupling with the Emperor’s woman like some lowly beast.
How satisfying that would be!
The Immortal Master’s medicine sent by Qiu Niang truly was much to his liking!
Sensing something missing, Zhao Yuanyu turned back: “Where is Qiu Niang?”
The eunuch shook his head: “This servant also finds it strange. By right, after Qiu Niang mixed in among the palace maids and finished the dosing, she should have returned.”
Zhao Yuanyu’s eyes darkened, but he quickly dismissed the interlude. With a sweep of his sleeve, he said excitedly: “Ignore her! According to the plan, draw those concubines to the Shicui Hall. We must catch them in the act!”
——
Where… was this?
Qiu Niang, hands bound, sat trembling upon the ground, staring blankly all around.
She had only gone to do Lord Yong’s bidding. Just as she was about to return and report, someone had struck her with a hand-blade, roughly seized her, and carried her away to this place…
Qiu Niang’s gaze halted, fixed in a daze upon the handsome man half-hidden in shadow.
She recognized that dark crimson attire. On her face was half fear, half an irrepressible amazement at his beauty.
“Where is your so-called Immortal Master hiding?”
His voice was low, carrying a lingering illusion of tenderness.
Qiu Niang’s pupils trembled. She bit her lip and said: “This concubine… this concubine knows not of any Immortal Master.”
The man played with the pomegranate blossom in his hand. In the dimness, only the outline of his crimson robe could be seen, and the burning red between his fingers.
“You will come to know.”
When he spoke these words, the corner of his mouth even held a smile.
A scream had not yet fully burst out before it was smothered in her throat. Then came a heavy thud of a body falling.
“Take her back and interrogate her slowly,” Zhang Cang ordered the attendants waiting outside.
The woman was soon dragged away. In less than a quarter of an hour, she would be sent into the dungeons of Prince Su’s manor.
“Your Highness, we—”
Zhang Cang turned his head, but upon seeing his master’s face, his expression abruptly changed.
That face was pale as frost, only the lips tinged with an abnormal crimson.
Wenren Lin lifted his eyes, and in the lacquer-black depths of his gaze, a faint and uncanny dark red glimmered—seductive to the extreme.
Zhang Cang knew—this was the sign of the Cold-Bone Poison flaring.
“Your Highness, your poison!”
Zhang Cang came to his senses, frantically patting himself all over, yet found nothing.
They had believed the poison would not flare until the seventh day, so this month’s antidote pills had been left hidden away in the dark compartment of the prince’s manor…
How could it erupt early? Why of all days today!
“Not enough to kill me, why panic.”
In the gloom, Wenren Lin’s voice was calm to the point of cruelty.
When this poison erupted in full, how savage and dreadful it was—even Zhang Cang, this iron-blooded hardened man, could hardly bear to watch again. How could he not be anxious!
“Can Your Highness still move? Let us return to the manor at once for the medicine—it will still be in time!”
He half crouched forward, patting his own sturdy shoulder. “Come, Your Highness, lean upon your subordinate to walk.”
Wenren Lin laughed. “If this prince’s countenance were to be seen by others in such a state, how could there be peace hereafter?”
“Then what should be done…”
“You return to the manor to fetch the medicine.”
Wenren Lin said, “Half an hour only—this prince can endure.”
Zhang Cang smacked his forehead. “Your servant will go at once!”
Having spoken, Zhang Cang rushed off like a whirlwind, even forgetting to close the door.
Wenren Lin rose and went to the window, seating himself beneath that narrow span of warm sunlight.
He sought a comfortable posture to lean against, loosely closing his five fingers, then slowly releasing them, carefully feeling the waves of icy pain that spread through bones and viscera. Even the sunlight was like blades of ice piercing to the marrow, yet his expression did not change.
After all, he was long accustomed to it.
——
Shicui Hall.
Zhao Yen’s face was flushed as she panted, clutching half a flower vase.
The other half lay shattered upon the head of the palace maid, now fainted.
Having dealt with the maid, Zhao Yen cast her gaze toward Beauty Liu, who lay upon the couch, still twisting and moaning.
Yet the suffering wracking Zhao Yen’s own body was no less than hers.
This drug was exceedingly fierce. When she had been alone, she merely felt dizzy. But the moment Beauty Liu entered, nameless fire ignited within her, nearly devouring her reason. Only because the poisoners did not know she was female—and so, before another woman, she felt no desire—did she manage to preserve a sliver of clarity, enough to seize the chance when the maid’s guard slackened and strike.
She could not foolishly remain here.
Even if no act had been consummated, for the Crown Prince to be found disheveled in one chamber with a consort—this was a crime beyond measure.
To expose her true identity could indeed clear her name, but how could she dare? The crimes of deceiving the sovereign and a hen usurping the dawn were far weightier than that of “fornication”!
The broken vase clattered to the ground. Zhao Yen yanked the bedding to cover Beauty Liu, shielding her last shred of dignity, then clung to the last thread of lucidity, staggering as she leaned upon the wall to leave.
Her steps faltered, her vision warped and blurred, moving forward only by instinct.
“Where is she? Why is she gone? Find her quickly, the matter must not be ruined!”
From afar came the shrill cry of a eunuch.
Zhao Yen panicked, stumbling in the opposite direction.
She knew not how far she had gone, nor where this endless twisting corridor might lead. She only wished to be far from the crowd, to keep anyone from seeing the Crown Prince in such a disheveled state…
Human voices gradually faded, replaced only by her own rapid, alien breaths.
The scorching fire burned up to her cheeks, turning into sweat streaming down. Like a fish stranded in a dry pond, she suffered almost to the point of death.
At the brink of collapse, she finally saw—hidden behind the blue forest—a solitary, secluded hall.
Zhao Yen slipped inside.
Her strength spent, she nearly collapsed headlong upon the floor.
Yet unexpectedly, she fell against a broad expanse of crimson fabric.
Zhao Yen had not thought there would be someone within; for a moment she was stunned.
She had no strength to rise. Only by biting her lip with all her might did she force herself, hazily, to lift her gaze along that cloth—
In her blurred vision, the cold-pale face before her seemed indistinct and ethereal.
She struggled to open her eyes wide, until the features gradually assembled into the visage most familiar to her.
Wenren Lin gazed at the “little Crown Prince,” hair damp with sweat, face flushed red. A trace of astonishment flickered in his eyes. He himself was suffering the torment of poison’s flare; his mood was naturally foul, and at the sound of approaching footsteps he had been ready to kill—yet the one who collided into him was…
“Your Highness?”
He lifted his cold fingers, brushing aside the loosened strands at the side of Zhao Yen’s face, as if to see her features more clearly.
Zhao Yen’s mind buzzed; in that instant she dared not look upon the expression he wore.
In despair and humiliation, she shut her eyes.
Yet reality proved there was still worse despair.
As Wenren Lin raised his hand, the unique chill of his aura drifted to her nose—so utterly different from Beauty Liu’s cloying sweetness, the breath of a man.
Zhao Yen even suspected that some fierce aphrodisiac had been used on him as well, for the last thread of lucidity she clung to snapped completely the moment she struck against this man.
Repressed, alien longing surged back like a flood bursting through its banks, a thousandfold backlash.
Uncontrollably, she lifted her hand, trembling fingertips threading through the shaft of sunlight cast from outside the hall, lightly clutching that crimson sleeve.
A pitifully faint strength, like pleading.
Wenren Lin was startled.
Looking into the Crown Prince’s watery, scattered eyes, he seemed to understand something. In his gaze, a gorgeous shallow smile slowly spread.
